


Putting the Dog to Sleep

by TheDisc (TheDisco)



Series: Coming of Age [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, Mentions of dead-names/dead-naming, Pre-Canon, Trans Love/Acceptance, Trans Male Character, but we dont find out the actual names, dutch is the only cis person in this story, mentions of dysphoria, unfortunately arthur is illiterate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDisco/pseuds/TheDisc
Summary: “So... Why do you call yourself ‘Morgan’?” Hosea asked one day.Morgan paused and frowned.“It’s my name, old man.”“But not your first name.”Morgan bristled a little. He pinched his brows together and said, accusingly, “You know I don’t use my first name. And you know damn well why. What are you gettin’ at?”“Oh, calm down,” Hosea said dismissively. “I don’t expect you to use that name. But why don’t you pick something new? Something that’s your own?”(Hosea and Dutch pick up a nameless scamp and decide to help give him a proper name.)





	Putting the Dog to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> [Putting the Dog to Sleep by The Antlers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOnkcgCr0tc)
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> dude i told myself i was done writing coming of age stories but fuck here we go again

**1878**

Only Dutch would be foolish enough to take one look at the boy who tried to rob him and then decide to buy him a meal. Any other man might have shot or at least beaten the kid— but no, not Dutch.

Dutch laughed, slapped the kid’s shoulder, and declared that they were going to eat together and talk.

Frankly, Hosea didn’t have much to say to the scamp, nor did Hosea intend to listen to anything he had to say likewise. The kid was filthy— he had hair that might’ve been blond if it weren’t so greasy, and a face pocked with dried mud, blood, dirt, and acne. He looked like he hadn’t seen a bath in days, and smelled like it, too. And by the way he ate, shovelling food into his mouth almost without the care to use a fork, Hosea guessed he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in twice as long.

Dutch didn’t seem to notice any of this. Or if he did, he didn’t care; he watched the kid devour his plate with an almost intrigued and intense look in his eyes. Whatever Dutch was planning, Hosea thought, he wasn’t going to like it.

“So, you’re quite the thief.” Dutch pointed out. His plate of potatoes and meat had gone mostly untouched. He sat forward with his elbows on the table and his fork paused between his hands. “You steal a lot?”

The boy tossed glances between his food and Dutch’s face. He lacked the manners to finish chewing before speaking.

“When I’ve gotta.”

“Of course. Every man has to feed himself.”

Dutch seemed more invested in the boy than his food. Hosea worked his own meal slowly, his gaze lingering on Dutch’s star-struck interest, before moving over to the boy again.

The boy shrugged.

“I guess so.”

“How often do you get caught?”

“Only sometimes.” The boy said. He stabbed a generous piece of meat onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth. “But barely.”

Hosea’s eyes shifted back to Dutch and as he stared at the younger man, he secretly wished he could read minds. Hosea focused hard, dissecting every nod and movement from Dutch, but he couldn’t pull anything out. All Hosea could do was hope that this was another one of Dutch’s fleeting, odd acts of kindness, or maybe he had an ulterior motive to befriending the boy.

Dutch remained oblivious to Hosea’s intense stare. He focused entirely on the boy.

“What’s your name, son?”

The kid’s jaw jumped and then he ground it shut. Hosea practically watched the gears turn in his head before he spat out, “Morgan.”

“Morgan,” Dutch repeated, as though he were testing the word on his tongue. “Do you have a last name?”

“That’s it.” The kid—Morgan, apparently—replied, flat.

Hosea had only been half-listening to this point, mostly focused on Dutch, but he tuned in at that. He paused pushing his potatoes around long enough to cock his brow.

“So, you don’t have a first name?” Hosea pried. “That’s what you’re telling us?”

Morgan turned his head toward Hosea and gave him a mean, dirty look. His lip curled, and his brows furrowed, he straightened out his shoulders and set them back. Considering how underfed and awkward he was, Hosea wasn’t particularly intimidated.

“Got a problem?” Morgan demanded.

“No, I suppose not.” Hosea eventually said. He relinquished his interrogation to Dutch and put his attention back to his meal. It was tasteless as an old boot, just like his company for the evening, but since Dutch was buying, Hosea didn’t have much room to complain.

Dutch spent the next little while grilling the Morgan kid, in a desperate attempt to draw any kind of information out of him, though there was little avail.

At one point, Morgan belched at the table and Dutch laughed, and Hosea knew then that he wouldn’t like how this dinner-date was going to end.

—30—

They ended up keeping the boy, and as a result staying in that little town a lot longer than they intended. Since Morgan was so worse for wear, ultimately Hosea and Dutch decided that they would stay until Morgan was fit for travel, then they would keep pushing west-ward, find a new town to terrorize, and chase new leads.

The only downside to this, at least to Hosea, was that he was prone to becoming restless. Teaching Morgan to read in their downtime was well enough, but the kid was such a pain in the ass and still so on edge that it was hard to commit to the lessons for any extended period. Usually Morgan was good for an hour or so before he got frustrated at the words or at Hosea or at whatever cruel God decided to cross him that day.

“He’s just a boy,” Dutch explained to Hosea over coffee one morning. “At that age, boys are mean and stupid. It’s all the body change goin’ on.”

There was a certain condescending edge to Dutch’s voice that Hosea didn’t particularly care for— as if he hadn’t grown up with himself and five brothers and wouldn’t know how “boys that age” act. As if his own experiences were somehow different. But Hosea knew that wasn’t true. Dutch just had that tone about him sometimes when he wanted to sound smart.

“Girls go through that, too,” Hosea remarked. “Sometimes worse than the boys.”

Dutch sipped his coffee and arched his brow high. He kind of laughed as he lowered his mug.

“Oh, I’m sure. But what does that have to do with anything? You think Morgan’s a girl?”

“No, not like that at all.” Hosea tapped his finger against his own cup. He quirked his brow. “Not exactly.”

“What are you...” Dutch flicked his eyes over Hosea across him from. He made a motion to Hosea with his finger. “You don’t mean... Like you...?”

Hosea nodded slowly. “Mm-hm.”

Dutch’s voice dropped as if they were discussing a closely guarded secret, and as if Morgan wouldn’t be awake until past daybreak, anyhow.

“How do you figure?”

“It’s just a hunch,” Hosea admitted. He drank another mouthful of coffee, then poured out the remains into the dirt. He set the mug down by the fire as he rose up. “I’m going into town to see what I can find. Maybe it isn’t our business, but if he’s going to be staying with us, it wouldn’t hurt to know his background, at least.”

Hosea didn’t expect to find much; he doubted that a little street urchin and pickpocket would have much of a file, beyond maybe a record of some of the petty crimes he had committed. A quick browse through the town’s archives and a flip through a few yellowing newspapers, however, and Hosea found obituaries for a Beatrice and Lyle Morgan, a couple who was succeeded by only one child.

Hosea didn’t recognize the child’s name but based on the worn-out Wanted photo of the Lyle Morgan, in whom he saw nothing but _their_ Morgan, Hosea could only assume he found exactly what he had come looking for.

Then there was the matter of how to approach it. No matter how much Hosea mulled over it, he couldn’t think of a casual way to bring up the subject to Morgan, not without the boy either going ballistic or being annoyed and confused at the accusation that he was “ever a girl”. Eventually Hosea settled on an approach that maybe wasn’t the kindest, but it was subtle, and it would work.

Dutch, ever nosey and intent on getting in other people’s drama, wanted to know everything that Hosea found as soon as he got back. Hosea still had one foot in his stirrup when Dutch asked in a whisper, “What did you find?” Along with some obvious eye movements and gestures towards Morgan, who was brushing the horses a little ways away.

“Well, I met a woman in town today,” Hosea announced. He continued despite the confusion on Dutch’s face. “I believe her name was...”

And then as he said the name, Hosea watched Morgan’s back jump and tense out of the corner of his eye. Out of instinct, Morgan jerked his head to look over his shoulder.

The expression on his face almost made Hosea feel bad; it was a pathetic sort of look, wrought with a thousand intense emotions of distress and anger. Maybe even with a hint of betrayal.

Hosea didn’t regret a lot, but he almost regretted finding out Morgan’s given name, just because of the look on his face. Later that night, in a hushed conversation amongst themselves, Dutch and Hosea agreed that it was a name best forgotten.

—30—

“So... Why do you call yourself ‘Morgan’?” Hosea asked one day. He leaned his elbow on their makeshift table, cheek propped up in-palm, as Morgan struggled his way through a children’s novel about a sword in a stone.

Morgan paused and frowned.

“It’s my name, old man.”

“But not your first name.”

Morgan bristled a little. He pinched his brows together and said, accusingly, “You know I don’t use my first name. And you know damn well why. What are you gettin’ at?”

“Oh, calm down,” Hosea said dismissively. “I don’t expect you to use _that_ name. But why don’t you pick something new? Something that’s your own?”

Morgan faltered. Hosea cocked his head as he waited for an answer that likely wasn’t going to come right away.

After a few beats, Morgan dropped his eyes to the book in front of him and admitted, “I never... Thought of it. I don’t know what I’d call myself.”

“Give it some thought. There has to be something.”

Morgan shrugged his shoulders. He stared down at the book as if it held the answers for him.

“I dunno...” Morgan pursed his lips together and pushed his hand through his hair. “How did you... Pick your name?”

“It was my father’s name,” Hosea said. “He wasn’t using it very often anyhow, and I figured that I could give it a better reputation.”

“That sure worked out,” Morgan snorted.

“You’d be surprised. He was a sinner far worse than I am, or so I’ve heard. I only met him a couple times.” Hosea shook his head. “That’s beside the point. You can have any name in the world that you want. A real one, and not just ‘Morgan’. Although if you’d like to be called Morgan Morgan, I suppose I can’t stop you...”

“I dunno where to start. In general.” Morgan said again.

“No ideas at all rattling around that empty head of yours?”

Morgan frowned, and looked like he wanted to say something smart, but ended up just sinking in on himself.

Hosea hummed a second as he pondered, then nodded.

“I’ve an idea. Stay here.”

Morgan watched Hosea get up and leave their workstation. Instead, he crossed their temporary camp to Dutch, who was reading the newspaper in the shade of their tent. Dutch paid Hosea no mind, up until Hosea plucked the paper from his hand and then went back to Morgan without an explanation. Obviously annoyed, based on his cried, “Excuse me,” Dutch jumped up and followed Hosea’s suit.

Morgan watched the whole thing and looked down at the newspaper as it was slapped on the table, covering their novel. Hosea stood by Morgan’s side as he pointed down to the pages.

“Find me the obituary.” Hosea said. “O-b-i-t-u-a-r-y.”

Morgan cocked his brow at Hosea in question, though ultimately, he did as asked. Dutch came up alongside Hosea as Morgan flipped through the pages.

“Tired of fairy tales?” Dutch asked, annoyed still.

“I figured he needed something with a little less substance and a little more bias,” Hosea replied.

Morgan took his time to scan the pages, following headlines with his finger as he read, even softly mumbling to himself. He felt weird and embarrassed having both Hosea and Dutch stare him down so intently while he tried to read, though Morgan refused to have them think less of him. He bumbled through the paper until he found a page on the back with the same title Hosea spelled out. Morgan looked up at the two other men.

“Now what?”

Hosea tapped his finger to the columns. Some of the names had short blurbs under them, though most—the poor people, Hosea assumed—had names and dates only.

“Start reading and find a name you like.”

Morgan stared at Hosea for a moment, his brows furrowed. “I’m no good at readin’ names yet.”

“Well, take your time and sound them out. You’ll recognize most of them from speaking once you get into it.”

Morgan looked between Hosea and Dutch both as if he were going to say something, then dropped his head and started reading under his breath.

Dutch swatted Hosea on the forearm, then crossed his arms over his chest.

“This is a pretty good idea,” Dutch commented.

“Thank you. Sometimes I’m more than just a pretty face.”

The two shared a smile as Morgan kept reading. He read through the James’ and Joseph’s without problem, but stumbled at Sylvester, at which point Hosea helped him out.

“That’s a stupid name,” Morgan mumbled.

“At least he had a first name.” Hosea replied. He tapped the page to encourage Morgan to keep going.

Dutch slid into Hosea’s chair across from Morgan and pursed his lips. He scanned over the names, as well, offering, “You ought to have something that stands out. Why, if you can choose any name you like, it may as well be an interesting one.”

“Such as?” Hosea asked in Morgan’s stead.

Dutch pondered a second, then said decisively, “Something like... Tacitus. Tacitus Morgan.”

Morgan made a face. “Ew.”

“Or Alistar,” Hosea added.

Morgan rolled his eyes. He kept reading under his breath.

Dutch and Hosea grinned at each other as they kept going back and forth.

“Maximus.”

“Quentin.”

“Michelangelo!” For emphasis, Dutch waved his hand.

“I like Arthur,” Morgan finally cut in. Both older men glanced down at the boy. “You know. Like King Arthur. From the book we was readin’.”

Dutch chuckled first.

“King Arthur... Well, you’ll get no awards for modesty, son.”

Morgan’s cheeks flushed as Hosea scoffed.

“Oh, as if Michelangelo was the humblest name you could have thought of.” Hosea clasped his hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Can you spell ‘Arthur’ off the top of your head?”

Morgan did so flawlessly. Hosea nodded his head, smiling with pride, and clapped Morgan on the shoulder again.

“There you go. We shall dub thee Arthur Morgan,” Hosea said. “With or without the prefix of ‘king’, depending.”

“Arthur’s not bad,” Dutch commented with a drawl. “I think Tacitus would have been more... Interesting. But Arthur’s alright.”

“There’s still time to change your own name if you like it so much,” Morgan—Arthur—tossed back. “Tacitus van der Linde.”

Dutch briefly contemplated it, before shaking his head.

“No, I couldn’t. I’ve got an image to maintain.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” Hosea replied. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “Now, I’d say you ought to finish your lessons... But this is something to be celebrated, I think, this... Leaving the past behind and letting sleeping dogs lie, and whatnot.”

Arthur broke out with a small, genuine grin, which made Hosea smile back. He could feel the pride and happiness inside Arthur at this new development, which was something he hadn’t seen at all since coming to know the boy.

So, Hosea promised himself he would do everything in his power to keep those feelings coming.


End file.
